


metempsychosis

by sea_glass



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change, not the show Supernatural but cryptids and ghosts and what have you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_glass/pseuds/sea_glass
Summary: Something slips through the cracks and won't let Will Graham go. With the help of Dr. Hannibal Lecter they wade through the darkness but escaping may be harder than they think.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This will be quite graphic and violent and may actually get more so as it goes on. Please heed the warnings which may change as the story progresses. 
> 
> This is the first piece of non-academic, non-work writing I have done in years so it will probably be quite rough, confusing, and weird. But you're already here, so why not stay a while?

**Prologue.**

It starts when Will touches the photograph.

“I know you’ve still got a few days off but I really need you to look at these pictures. Another body’s appeared and we think it fits the same MO as the last ones,” Jack says after materializing on Will’s porch just as he’s about to curl up on the sofa with Winston and a nice glass of whiskey.

Will sighs. “Fine. You’re already here anyway. Come in.”

Jack hands him the pictures. The paper of the topmost photograph snags on Will’s thumbnail and sinks into the delicate flesh under the free edge. “Fuck,” he hisses, shoving his thumb into his mouth. The photographs drop to the table.

And there is a woman, limbs stretched to horrifying proportions until she resembles a desiccated insect, eyes and mouth gouged into void-black holes in her skull, throat torn into a mangled mess and all is topped with delicate beads of Will’s blood.

He screams.

* * *

“Hello, Mr. Graham. My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I understand from Agent Crawford that you may have experienced an episode of psychological distress from a crime scene photo you saw yesterday. I believe I can help you,” says the expensive-looking psychiatrist, his voice flowing over Will as he sits on the expensive leather chair in the expensive office. 

Will forces something that he hopes is a smile onto his face. “Please, call me Will.”

Dr. Lecter’s lips twitch slightly. Not close enough to a smile, then. Oh well. “Have you ever been to therapy before, Will?”

Will sighs. “Look, whatever Jack told you probably sounds a lot worse than it is. Yes, I was really out of it for a while after I saw the photos but I’m fine now. Therapy doesn’t work on me, anyway.”

Another amused twitch. “No?”

“No. It’s a waste of time. I know all the tricks.”

Dr. Lecter’s dark eyes take Will in, considering. Will shivers. “Even so, Agent Crawford was quite adamant that you attend four sessions with myself or another psychiatrist before you are cleared to return to work. You are not required to spend these sessions with me but as you are already here, you may wish to stay for the remainder of the session. We can talk if you wish, or we may sit together in silence. It is your choice.”

Will stares. Well, he has a point. He  _ is _ already there. And if he can sit in silence and get one session closer to going back to work then he might as well. “Okay.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Lecter holds up a small, leather-bound book. “May I?” Will nods in assent, relaxing back into the soft leather of the chair. The room is quiet, with only the sound of turning pages and faint traffic from the street below. 

Eventually, his mind wanders. He thinks about his dogs. He thinks about the loose tap handle on the kitchen sink that he keeps meaning to tighten but constantly puts it off instead. He thinks about a nice feather that he found for his next fishing lure. He thinks about the sharp angles of Dr. Lecter’s face and how the lighting in the office casts shadows that make him look like a skull in a three-piece suit. He absolutely does not think about his own blood on dry crisp skin he does not he does not

he

DOES

**_NOT_ **

**_She sinks her claws into you and screams in your ear and you gasp when your sharp teeth puncture her throat and the give of the skin is divine chunks of hot flesh and blood fill your mouth you ache and chew and ache and swallow and you can’t stop and she screams and screams and screams_ **

“Will?  _ Will! _ ” Someone’s hand grasps his shoulder and shakes, gently but frantically. “Will? Can you hear me?” It is like being pulled from a fast-flowing river, gasping and shaking and Will fights against it  _ nonono _ . Why can’t he stop shaking?

“Will. You were screaming.” Dr. Lecter’s face hovers over him, brow creased with worry. Will shakes, still gasping for air, sweating profusely. Somehow he is on the floor, face mashed into an expensive-looking rug. His heart pounds away in his chest.

“What.. what happened? I was  _ screaming _ ?” Will realizes his face is wet. Has he been crying? 

“It’s okay. Breathe with me. Breathe in, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Again.” They breathe together. After a few minutes, Will has calmed enough to stop shaking and gasping. His nerves are frayed. He feels  _ exhausted _ .

“What did you see, Will?” Dr. Lecter has moved away a few feet, still kneeling on the floor but giving Will some space. Will closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to keep calm.

“I’m not sure. It’s more like I felt everything. Or that I was too close to really see anything. I was… on top of her and she was clawing me into ribbons, screaming.” He tries to keep his breathing under control. “It was almost like screeching, actually? Inhuman. I tore into her throat. My teeth  _ hurt _ until I tore into her throat and I chewed her flesh and swallowed her blood,  _ oh god,”  _ Will sobs, horrified. Dr. Lecter watches him, his face unreadable.

“And what did you do then?”

Will swallows and folds himself inwards, hugging his knees close to his chest. “And then I heard your voice. You pulled me to the surface. But I… I didn’t want to leave.”

“You wanted to stay?” Dr. Lecter’s face is still blank. For once, Will wishes he could know what someone else is feeling.

Will’s voice has grown small. “That wasn’t the worst part.”

“Oh?”

“The worst part was that I  _ enjoyed  _ it.”

* * *

Will leaves Dr. Lecter’s office that evening with an appointment in a week’s time and a sense of lingering dread that refuses to dissipate no matter how many things he tries to distract himself with. His favorite songs, played loudly on his drive home? Fine, until the synthesizers morph into her banshee-like howling. A relaxing shower? Not bad, until the water turns into the hot blood that fills his mouth and runs down his neck. A nice shave? Just kidding, the razor is claws now. He can’t even go near the leftover rotisserie chicken with the crispy skin that sits in the fridge. It’s just as well, he’s lost his appetite anyway.

He lets the dogs out and stands on the porch, staring into the darkness. The night is calm and a light breeze rustles through the trees as his dogs chase each other and play in the grass. He wishes he could feel even an ounce of what they feel. Winston sits next to him and leans his furry body into his legs. Will sits down and hugs him close, burying his face in his soft fur. “I’ll be okay, buddy. This will all be fine.” Winston gives a sleepy  _ woof  _ in agreement and they watch together as one by one his tired and happy dogs return to the porch and fit themselves around him, a fort of warmth and comfort.

This is good. He will be fine.

* * *

The next morning, Will wakes up on the roof.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will makes a startling discovery.

Will stares at Dr. Lecter. His psychiatrist is well put-together, as usual. Today he wears another three-piece suit in a light grey color that accentuates his physique, giving Will the impression that he’s looking at a predator, calm but coiled tightly in waiting, ready to strike. He looks down at his own outfit self-consciously. The flannel shirt he wears is well-loved and has been washed to the point of nearly wearing through in some places. He’s sure his hair is all over the place as it always is. No matter how hard he tries he always looks and feels disheveled and fraying around the edges.

“How have you been, Will?”

Will pauses. “I, uh, woke up on the roof a few days ago.” Dr. Lecter’s face does not change. Will tries to smile again. It doesn’t work.

“Tell me what you remember.”

“Okay. I remember coming home. I took a shower. I… ate. I let the dogs out and went outside on the porch for a while. Then…”

“Then what?” prompts Dr. Lecter.

“I woke up on the roof. I don’t remember going to sleep. I don’t even remember coming inside. I don’t know what would’ve happened if the rain and my dogs barking hadn’t woken me up.” 

Dr. Lecter examines him with sharp eyes, face carefully blank. “Has this happened to you before or since, Will? Have you lost time?”

Will grimaces. He had hoped to avoid mentioning the very next day when he woke up where the forest starts in earnest, clothed only in his boxer briefs and a thin cotton t-shirt, shivering. Buster had been next to him, whimpering and licking his feet. “Sort of. Fine. Yes. But only once.” He doesn’t mention the persistent nightmares, however. The sweating. Waking up before the sun rises, his throat raw. “I think I’ve been sleepwalking.”

Dr. Lecter nods, making notes in a small leather notebook. “Did you experience anything strange before losing time? Sounds? Sensations? Perhaps something visual?”

Will thinks. “Honestly? I’ve been so exhausted lately I’ve barely noticed anything. Without work everything just kind of runs together. I’ve been trying to keep busy with grading and projects around the house but, well...”

Dr. Lecter sets the notebook down and folds his hands in his lap. “All right. I think that’s enough for today.”

“Wait, what? That’s it?”

“That’s it. I would like you to try one thing, however. If you experience one of these episodes again, I want you to write down everything you can remember as soon as possible. Any sensations, thoughts, or feelings. Anything you might see or hear. No detail is too small. We will review these in our next session, should an episode occur.”

Will blinks, still surprised. “Okay.” He stands up and stretches, wandering over to the expansive bookcases that cover the walls in Dr. Lecter’s office. “May I?” he asks, gesturing at the bookshelves.

“Of course, Will. Be my guest.” Dr. Lecter smiles slightly and takes his book out again. He begins to read. Will follows the shape of his smile as it appears and vanishes, so quickly. He turns his attention to the bookshelves. Rows and rows of books are arranged neatly on the built-in shelves, most hardcover, but a few softcover books are there too. Many are handsomely bound in leather and are of varying ages but all are in good condition and obviously treasured. He lightly runs his hand along the top of a row of books. No dust. If only he could achieve such heights.

One large, heavy volume catches his eye.  _ Encyclopaedia of Rare Creatures and Mythical Beings _ . Oh, these were always good. Maybe a drawing of a half-man, half-dragon with a goofy facial expression fighting a monk or a fish with bird wings who looks like it’s done with everyone’s shit will cheer him up. Will gently eases the book off the shelf and opens it to a random page. A drawing of a large lion with the head of a man greets him. It looks fed up. Will can relate. “Manticore” the entry reads, along with a few paragraphs that Will doesn’t read, instead looking at the other pictures in the entry, all details from manuscripts including one that he particularly likes of a manticore with a stressed grimace running over a man. Nice. He turns to another page. A bull with curving ram’s horns sprays its attackers with excrement as they drive a lance through its neck. “What the hell, man. I thought we were friends,” its betrayed expression seems to convey. Oof. Been there. “Bonnacon” the entry reads, continuing with a delightful description of the acidic properties of said excrement and its effectiveness in repelling attackers. Will stifles a laugh. He turns the page again. A being with spindly limbs that stretch to horrifying lengths with gaping holes for eyes and a yawning maw of nothing and warped desiccated skin and  _ everything is too long and its claws are too long and dread spikes through him and the rush of blood in his ears turns up to a deafening roar and _ Will nearly drops the book, gasping. 

“Are you all right, Will?” Dr. Lecter looks over his shoulder at him and Will turns quickly, shielding the book from view.

“Uh, yeah. Hah. Sorry. Nearly dropped a book on my foot,” he says, laughing weakly. Dr. Lecter turns back to his book. Will forces himself to look back at the page. 

The text of the entry is too faint to read no matter how hard Will strains his eyes and angles the book toward the light, but he can tell it’s only one sentence long. There is no name.  _ There is no name. _

Will shoves the book back onto the shelf as fast as he can without nearly dropping it again and moves along the bookcases, trying to force his breathing to go back to normal. 

It’s fine. Everything is fine. He’s just tired, that’s all. None of the weird creatures in that book are real, especially that  _ thing. _

He leaves their session a short time later, fear trickling down his spine.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I feel like something’s watching me,” mutters Will, staring morosely at his lunch as he pushes fries around on his plate. A hand reaches over and snatches some. “Hey,” he protests, weakly.

“You’re not eating them anyway. It’d be a shame to let them go to waste.” Beverly Katz is the closest thing Will has to a work friend and the only person who doesn’t make him feel like he’s being humored whenever they interact with him, or cautiously tiptoed around like he’s going to break down any second. Will still isn’t sure why she wants to hang around him or endure his reticent demeanor and occasional rudeness but she does anyway and he’s secretly grateful for it. She shoves the fries in her mouth and looks at him, concerned. After chewing for a few moments, she swallows and speaks. “Wait, why do you think something’s watching you? Does this have to do with your roofscapade last week?”

“My… what? No. Maybe? I’m not sure.” He really isn’t, either. Will hasn’t had another episode since his last meeting with Dr. Lecter but he can always feel it  _ somewhere _ in the back of his mind, itching away. The thing with no name that waits. And now, on top of being on edge in case an unpredictable replay of Will biting its fucking throat out in lurid detail happens again he has to deal with the feeling that something’s watching him. He hopes like hell it isn’t the creature but it’s Will, so it probably is the creature. Because of course it is. “Wait, how did you hear about that?”

Beverly looks a little sheepish. “I overheard Zeller and Price talking about it. Don’t ask me how they know. They somehow know everything.” Will groans. Which means that everyone in the department knows now. As if people didn’t think he was weird enough already.

“Okay, well. Shit. I don’t know. I’ve been kind of sleepwalking lately. I’ve barely slept in weeks. But other than that I’m fine. I’m just waiting for Dr. Lecter to clear me and then I can go back to work and put all this behind me.”

“Dr. Lecter, hmm? Is he cute?” Beverly grins, waggling her eyebrows in a way that makes Will want to crumple in embarrassment.

“No Beverly, he isn’t  _ cute _ . He’s a grown man who wears suits that probably cost more than my car.”

Beverly snorts. “Everything costs more than your car, Will. I’m amazed it hasn’t fallen apart on the road yet.” 

Will grimaces, pushing his plate away. Beverly can have his fries, everything tastes like ash anyway. “Don’t tempt fate, Bev. Please distract me with something else.  _ Anything. _ ”

“Ha! Okay, so yesterday during lunch Zeller somehow managed to spill an entire Mountain Dew all over Price’s notebook and the screaming was  _ incredible _ . Then came the flying objects. Jack came in and yelled at them until they stopped. It was great. You really had to be there.” Will is very glad that he wasn’t there, but the talking helps.

“Thanks Bev,” he says gratefully. Beverly grins at him.

“No problem, Will. It’s good to see you. Everyone misses you.” Will sincerely doubts that, but it’s nice to hear, anyway. 

* * *

Will’s mood has greatly improved by the time they part ways and when he gets home he even manages to clean the living room up a little and spends some time playing fetch with his dogs. He’s almost  _ bouncy  _ when he settles down for dinner to a simple lasagna topped with what was probably too much cheese by most people’s standards. Will isn’t most people, so he digs in happily and has a pleasant dinner, idly leafing through an old fishing magazine as a dog settles next to his feet. As he leans down to pet the furry head draped across his feet something under the kitchen table catches his eye. He leans over and picks it up.

It’s the notebook Dr. Lecter handed him on his way out of their last session. Will hasn’t written in it yet. He’s thought of writing down the incident with the book in Dr. Lecter’s office a few times but every time he sits down to do it something stops him. Does it even count as an “episode” if he just went a little weird after looking at a drawing? There wasn’t even any screaming or lost time. All he did was narrowly avoid breaking a foot. Will decides that it doesn’t count and closes the notebook, tossing it on the kitchen table.

As he continues to eat, a nagging thought finally makes itself known. In the beginning, the woman from the crime scene photo was his torturer but now, the  _ thing _ in the back of his mind is starting to resemble the creature from the book, a horrifying mass of limbs and skin caught somewhere between insect and human. 

Whatever it is, it’s starting to change.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you're back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has his third visit with Dr. Lecter and has a nice time in the forest.

**Chapter 3**

Will is barely aware of the presence nearby as his eyes fly open. The forest around him stands completely still, hanging frozen in time as he frantically turns around, looking for anything that could explain how the hell he got here. He holds his breath and strains his hearing. Nothing but the pounding of his heart.

There’s a body on the ground.

Will is filled with an overwhelming urge to lurch towards it even as he fights with every ounce of his being. He staggers mechanically across the forest floor and falls to his knees. The presence grows more urgent, more oppressive and envelops him, pushing him closer to the body. 

It is a goat, but only just. It lies motionless on a bed of grass and there’s something  _ off _ about it, its edges blurring slightly into its surroundings. Will’s aching teeth sink into its neck before he even knows what he’s doing. Hot blood fills his mouth and he chews hungrily through tissue and skin, sinew and fur. His eyes slide shut in bliss. It tastes  _ alive. _

As he nears satiety, he becomes aware of the presence again, humming around him. It feels excited, almost approving. Will fills his mouth again and again, the presence growing stronger and stronger around him. He’s gorging himself now but he can’t stop as he tears raw meat between his sensitive teeth, no longer aching but meant to shred flesh this way and it feels  _ incredible _ . Finally full, he leans back to sit on his heels, more content than he can ever remember being.

When he opens his eyes, the spindle-limbed sunken-eyed  _ thing _ lies before him, dried out and torn to hell, claws twitching and uselessly grasping for something to rip. It vibrates soundlessly with rage and Will gets the feeling it’s screaming, somewhere. The presence sighs happily, caressing him with approval.

Will smiles and licks the blood from his fingers.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I had an episode yesterday,” Will says as soon as he sits in the leather chair on their third session, unable to keep it in any longer. The echo of the presence still faintly hums in the back of his mind and he feels more alert, as if everything around him is brought into sharper focus.

Or maybe he’s just heading towards hypomania.

Dr. Lecter’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? Did you use the journal to write down everything you’ve experienced, as we discussed?”

“Yeah, here.” Will digs the notebook out of his pocket and hands it over. Upon waking, mercifully inside this time, he’d hunched over his kitchen table for what felt like hours, writing until his hand was sore. Dr. Lecter reads his entry as Will waits, expectant.

“Ah. I see you’ve included a sketch as well.” Will cringes. It is an absolute testament to Dr. Lecter’s professionalism that his face shows no reaction to how truly shitty Will’s drawing of the creature is, he thinks. The only thing that could’ve made it worse was if he’d slapped a fucking smiley face on the thing.

“Uh, yeah. I couldn’t really seem to describe it properly. It was… a lot.”

Dr. Lecter smiles, then. A real smile, with visible teeth and everything. Will gapes, momentarily at a loss for words. “I, uh, woke up inside too.”

Another smile. “Did you, now? That is good to hear. Tell me, Will, how did you feel when you woke up?”

“I felt good, actually. Great. I still feel good. I’m actually well-rested and I don’t think I’ve ever felt well-rested in my life.”

Dr. Lecter’s smile softens to a gentle, close-lipped curve. “Our bodies and minds need time to heal and regenerate. It is amazing what a night or two of good sleep can do.” He hands Will a glass of water. “And proper hydration, of course. These nocturnal escapades can dehydrate you quite quickly.” Will chugs the water immediately, as if to prove how healthy and back to normal he is now. Look, he thinks. I’m drinking from an actual glass and not from a sink tap in the middle of the night for once!

“So. How am I doing? Can I go back to work now?” 

Dr. Lecter seems to have expected this question. “I’m afraid it’s too soon to tell. You have just experienced another significant episode- although admittedly this one didn’t end with you in mortal danger. I would like to try something though, if you are amenable?” Will shrugs. Whatever gets him back to work faster. He’s so bored he’s already run through his giant pile of grading and actually  _ misses _ it. “Excellent. We still have enough time left in our session for this exercise. Try to make yourself as comfortable as possible and let me know when you’re ready to begin.”

Will shifts a bit in his chair and attempts to relax. He isn’t expecting much but at the very least he can maybe take a nice nap without having to worry about ending up somewhere weird. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good. Close your eyes. Breathe in… and out.” Will hears a steady ticking from Dr. Lecter’s direction. He finds himself automatically focusing on it. “If any thoughts or feelings enter your mind, observe them, but let them go. Do not try to force anything out.”  _ Tick, tock, tick, tock. _ “Your legs are growing heavy, sinking into the surfaces on which they rest. Your arms relax, the tension in your hands, your forearms, your biceps easing away. They grow heavy and sink into the arms of your chair, so relaxed you cannot move them.” Faintly, through the pleasant fog in his mind, Will is a little impressed. He’d usually be trying not to laugh at this point. “A wave of relaxation rolls down your spine, melting you into your chair. You can feel your lower back relax and soften.’  _ Tick, tock, tick, tock.  _ God, Will feels really good right now. If Dr. Lecter put this on a tape and sold it Will would buy it in a heartbeat. “The tension flows from your shoulders and upper back, down through your arms and out of your body. Your shoulders are now completely relaxed. Focus on my voice. Your head grows heavy as warmth pours from the top of your head and runs down your scalp to the base of your skull and down your neck, melting away any tension. Your head is so heavy you can barely hold it up. You are now completely relaxed. You will stay completely relaxed until I tell you otherwise.”  _ Tick, tock, tick, tock.  _ Will is slumped over now, pliant.

“I am going to help you remember who you are.”

_ Tick, tock, tick, tock. _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will jerks awake when he hears a door open. “Oh god. I’m so sorry, I must have been tired and didn’t realize. How long was I out for?” Dr. Lecter shuts a door located at the back of the office, one Will hasn’t noticed before. He folds himself back into his chair, pristine as always. Will feels more rumpled just looking at him.

“About forty minutes, I think. And do not feel as though you need to apologize, Will. You are still sleep-deprived and I would not begrudge you for taking your rest when you can.”

Will nods, rubbing a hand over his face. He feels groggy and strangely exhausted. So much for feeling well-rested, he thinks resentfully. “Are we done for today then?”

“We are indeed. Try to get some more rest and don’t forget to document any episodes or anything that seems out of the ordinary to you. I will see you next week at the same time.”

Will nods blearily and eases himself up from the chair, attempting to stretch the sleep from his body. He feels like he could sleep for a year. Maybe he will when he gets home, it’s not like he has anything else to do. “All right. Goodbye, Dr. Lecter.”

“Have a pleasant evening, Will.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will somehow manages to drive home without falling asleep behind the wheel and lets his dogs out, refilling their food and trying to blink himself into alertness as he does so. The grogginess doesn’t budge and Will resigns himself to the fact that it probably won’t until he goes to sleep. Well, fine then. Dogs inside, he gets ready for bed and soon finds himself lying down, staring at the ceiling.  _ Go to sleep. Just go to sleep. Close your eyes and go to sleep _ .  _ Sleep.  _ Astoundingly, this doesn’t work. Will tries counting backwards from one hundred but gets too irritated to continue around the mid-seventies. He stews for a minute until his mind drifts to Dr. Lecter’s voice and the soothing roll of warm relaxation it prompts as it drips from the top of his head down his body, taking all the tension with it. His scalp tingles pleasantly at the remembered sensation, a frisson that sends shivers down his spine. The heaviness follows and Will gradually sinks further into his mattress, bit by bit. Dr. Lecter’s voice curls through his mind, and before Will knows it, he is asleep.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next few days pass uneventfully. The grogginess dissipates, but Will doesn’t return to the energetic and invigorated state he was in after the last episode. He can’t pretend he’s not disappointed by this, but it is what it is. At least he hasn’t had another period of lost time or woken up in the middle of the road screaming.

Jack calls to see how he is. Or rather, he calls to see where his pet empath is in the process of getting cleared for work. “We need you to get back here, Will. You have one session left,” he says over the phone. “I just want you to be okay.” Will doesn’t buy it for a second, but he strings together some reassuring words about how much better things are now and how eager he is to get back to work. Either it works or Jack figures there’s only so much he can do over the phone and he promises to call again soon.

Will finds things to fill his time. He tinkers with a boat motor. He ties some flies. He attempts to teach Buster a trick and gives up after half an hour. He has a nice but awkward phone call with Dr. Alana Bloom who has been covering his classes at the Academy while he’s been gone. His habit of preparing his lectures ridiculously far in advance has paid off. His students are doing well and actually noticed that he wasn’t there. “You sound like you’re doing well, Will. The time off is doing you some good,” says Dr. Bloom. Will doesn’t mention that it’s at the expense of him suffering terrifying visions and screaming more than he ever has in his life. 

“I’m doing fine, Alana. Looking forward to coming back. I’m hoping to get cleared by the end of next week.” He likes Dr. Bloom with her kind demeanor and warm eyes. He’d hoped that they would become closer at some point, but she’d never responded to his admittedly lame romantic overtures. Still, talking to her reminds him of the time he’d suggested they curl up together with his dogs by the space heater. He tries to ignore the stab of embarrassment this memory conjures up. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, Will.” You can stop treating me like I’m going to shatter into pieces, Will thinks. He knows she means well but her smothering concern wears him down sometimes. They say goodbye and Will settles on the sofa and tries to relax. He finds himself missing the quiet, reassuring hum of the presence and wonders if it will ever return.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He’s hungry. 

He tears into the deer? A ram? He can’t even tell and he doesn’t care, he’s so  _ hungry _ . There is no sound except for the wet squish of blood and flesh and his moans of delight. The surrounding forest is dark, a patch of moonlight where Will kneels to feed the only illumination he is aware of. He shudders in ecstasy. 

A soft presence caresses him. Will can feel that it’s pleased with him. He wants to please it. He eats more.

He’s warm. By the time the animal has twisted itself into the husk again he feels full and content. The thing doesn’t fill him with fear anymore and he regards it distantly, like one might view a banana peel or a citrus rind after rending the sweetness within.

The presence is pleased with him and strokes along his spine, filling him with shivering bliss. Will has done well.

The forest snaps around him. Daylight streams through the trees and the sound of birds and the nearby river suddenly fill his senses, the volume cranked up from 0 to 10. Will looks down. There is nothing on the ground but grass and branches fallen from the trees above. He is still kneeling in the same spot.

He is covered in blood and it feels  _ amazing. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Dr. Lecter have their fourth session.

Will’s invigorated state returns quickly, and he finds that he is pleased to feel the presence again, curled up in the back of his mind like a sleeping dog. He feels cautiously optimistic about how things are going. His final session with Dr. Lecter is rapidly approaching, and he has documented his most recent episode meticulously, carefully leaving out the part where the blood was real and he found himself spitting bits of fur out of his mouth for a disturbingly long period of time afterward. No need to prolong his time away from work, he thinks. Jack does need him back, after all.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dr. Lecter closes Will’s journal at their session a few days later and regards him with a small smile. “How do you feel about your progress, Will?”

“I feel great,” says Will, taking the notebook back from Dr. Lecter. “I think this has been very helpful. Despite my earlier, uh, _reluctance._ ”

Dr. Lecter nods. “Quite. Do you feel that your therapy has been successful?”

“Absolutely. I feel better than I have in a long time. I think I’m ready to go back to work.” Will waits. If Dr. Lecter isn’t going to mention anything about his latest episode then he isn’t going to either.

“I agree. I am clearing you to return to work, starting on Monday. Congratulations, Will.” Dr. Lecter elegantly signs a form with a startlingly expensive-looking pen and hands it to Will.

Will grins. “Did you just rubber stamp me?”

“I am satisfied with the work we have done here.” They stand up, and Dr. Lecter walks Will out. Will is struck with an odd pang of wistfulness at the thought that he he’ll never again sit on the expensive chair in the expensive office, staring at the sharply-defined features of his expensive psychiatrist’s face. Though they’ve spent most of their time together in silence, Will has appreciated this quiet companionship more than he’s realized. At least he can go back to work. This is why he came here in the first place, he reminds himself. 

Will pauses in the waiting room, turning back to face Dr. Lecter. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. 

A small smile is his reward, warm and genuine. Will feels warm, too. “You are most welcome, Will. Take care.”

Will leaves the office, taking a strange sense of longing with him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will spends the last weekend before he returns to work quietly. He prepares his lectures for the upcoming week after speaking to Dr. Bloom to confirm where she left off. He spends too long tweaking the font on his PowerPoint slides. He calls Jack, who is overjoyed to hear of his freshly cleared status while simultaneously making his disapproval with the fact that Will can’t return to work _now_ known. He goes fishing and catches enough to feed himself for the rest of the weekend with the vegetables in the fridge that he’s amazingly remembered to use before they’ve gone bad. He cuddles with the dogs. He finally fixes the tap on the kitchen sink. He thinks of Dr. Lecter sometimes, and imagines sitting with someone in a comfortable silence, as they did.

He sleeps, but doesn’t dream.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will’s return to teaching is a surprisingly smooth and uneventful process. 

“Thank God, he’s finally changed the font on the slides,” he hears one of his students mutter. It’s nice to have his efforts appreciated. His lecture on the recent spate of killings deliberately leaves out the photograph that started Will’s little journey into mandatory sick leave and he falls back into the rhythm of teaching easily. His students listen attentively and ask thoughtful questions. It feels good to be doing something again.

As he describes the specific way in which the victims are positioned at the crime scenes he feels the presence shift slightly. He looks up, and there at the door stands Jack Crawford and Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He falters mid-sentence as a weird jolt of surprise and something _else_ hits him, but continues lecturing, unwilling to deprive his students of his first lecture back after being away for nearly a month.

“All right everyone, class is over,” announces Jack, barely giving Will enough time to finish his sentence. Well. So much for that. His students file out and Will sighs, leaning against the table at the front of the room. He’s glad he wore his glasses today but he was hoping he wouldn’t need the particular armor they provide just yet.

“Jack. Dr. Lecter. What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Will. Dr. Lecter is consulting on the case. He’s also going to be working closely with you.”

Will stiffens immediately. “What? I’ve been cleared. I’m fine. I even have the piece of paper, _which Dr. Lecter_ _signed_ , saying that I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter. No offense, Doctor.” He knows he’s being more brusque than usual but he resents being coddled.

“None taken, Will.” Dr. Lecter seems completely unaffected by Will’s tone and Will swears he even looks a little _amused_. 

“It’s already been decided, Will. We believe that your combined insight is crucial to catching this killer. There was another body while you were gone and we can’t take any risks with you getting too close.”

Will isn’t going to win this one, is he. “Fine. Just don’t make me go back to therapy.”

Jack sighs. “No, you don’t have to go back to therapy. Stop by the lab after your last class today and we’ll catch you up. I know you have another lecture in forty-five. Dr. Lecter.” Jack nods to them both, and is gone. Dr. Lecter lingers.

“It’s good to see you again, Will. How have you been faring?” Will takes a moment to study him. His posture is straight and his hair is perfectly combed. Today he wears a navy blue suit with a dark red pinstripe tie. He looks immaculate. Will doesn’t think he’s ever noticed another man’s clothing to this degree before, but he definitely notices Dr. Lecter’s.

“Are you asking as my psychiatrist?”

“You are no longer my patient. I am merely asking as a friend.”

“ _Are_ we friends, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, smirking.

“We can be, if you so wish it. I believe I would enjoy your company.”

“Is that even allowed?”

“As you are no longer my patient, it is merely... frowned upon, not strictly forbidden,” says Dr. Lecter, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“I think I can work with ‘frowned upon’. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble, Dr. Lecter.” Dear God, is he _flirting_? Will is suddenly intensely grateful that nobody else is around to witness this in case it turns into another Space Heater Incident. Which it probably will.

“You will not get me in trouble, Will. I am glad I had the opportunity to see you today. I would like to extend an invitation to join me for dinner at my home, perhaps this Thursday if you are available?”

Will stares at him, dumbfounded. His facial expression is caught somewhere between a surprised smile and a weird slack-jawed gape. “You’re inviting me for dinner? To your house? You’re going to like, cook for me? Should I bring something?” He feels bizarrely jittery, like he’s chugged an entire pot of coffee back when caffeine still worked on him. 

Dr. Lecter smiles. “Yes, Will, I am going to cook for you. And you needn’t bring anything, just yourself. Jack and his wife Bella will be in attendance as well.” Will deflates slightly. Here comes Space Heater Incident Part 1.5, then. At least he hadn’t actually made a move this time, he wasn’t sure if he could handle a Space Heater Incident Part 2.

“Of- of course. I’d love to. Thursday is fine. I don’t really have a busy social calendar.” Will smiles shakily and tries to calm down. There is no reason to think that this is anything but a friendly invitation, he scolds himself. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing or why this is happening. Besides idly acknowledging a man’s attractiveness every now and then he’s never experienced _this_ reaction before. Even his sad pining over Dr. Bloom feels tepid compared to whatever the hell this is. 

Dr. Lecter removes a card from his jacket pocket and writes something on the back of it. He hands it to Will. “This is my personal number and my home address. Please feel free to call or text me any time. I look forward to seeing you on Thursday at eight, Will.”

“See you then, Doctor,” says Will softly, staring at Dr. Lecter’s graceful handwriting, the black ink flowing smoothly across rich cream paper.

“Will?”

Will looks up. “Yes?”

“Please, call me Hannibal.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The rest of his classes that day go well and before he knows it, Will is in the lab again. Beverly gives him a welcoming grin, Zeller gives him an awkward little wave and Price nods briefly in his direction, barely tolerating him as usual. Back to normal, then. Jack arrives a few minutes later and brings him up to speed. Bodies of women, limbs stretched out like snow angels. Eyes gouged out. Mouths cracked open, screaming. The total is up to six, now.

Will stares at the pictures. “These are… normal again. Not like the last one I saw.”

“Normal?” scoffs Price. “I’d hate to see what your idea of weird is if that’s normal.” Will ignores him.

“No, the last one… Jack, that one photograph you showed me last time, before I was out. The body that was almost desiccated? With the, uh, _claws_?”

There is a long, uncomfortable silence. Jack looks at Will and nods sharply towards the hallway. Will looks warily around the room as he steps outside, following Jack. “Okay Will, what the hell are you talking about? I thought you and Dr. Lecter worked through this.”

Will stares at him. “You don’t remember? It looked like a dried-out stick insect crossed with a screwed up taxidermy project, Jack. With claws. Then I cut myself on the picture and checked the hell out of my body.”

Jack gives him a hard stare. “I’m going to pretend you haven’t said any of this and we’re going to go back into that room. That photo you cut yourself on? That body looked the same as this one. They’re all the same.”

“Why did he even bother coming back? All he does is break down all over the place and waste everyone’s time,” he overhears Price say from the next room, followed by Beverly hissing at him to shut the fuck up.

He’s right, thinks Will. He’s right.

  
  


* * *

  
  


That night, when Will sits on his porch with a whiskey watching his dogs run he feels the presence nudge him. It has grown slightly stronger since the last episode, where he woke up covered in blood. Will is so done with everyone and everything today he can’t bring himself to worry about the implications of this or even care. He turns his concentration to it. Could he communicate with it somehow? Nudge it back? He tries it, turning his attention to where he feels its presence in his head. He gets a faint feeling of amusement and a little nudge in return. “Weird,” he mutters. It doesn’t feel hostile or dangerous, merely unformed and a little curious. “You’re not going to make me black out and wake up in the hospital or anything, are you? The roof was bad enough.” He feels it curl back up in his mind. He’d been hoping for some kind of apology but oh well, close enough. He’ll take what he can get on a day like this.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Thursday comes along after Will spends two days avoiding everyone as much as possible. Nobody comes to ask him about the case. Beverly calls and he doesn’t pick up, instead sending her a quick text letting her know that he’s okay but doesn’t want to talk to anyone for a while. He sees Jack very briefly in passing and supposes that they’ve both decided to pretend the incident in the lab never happened. He considers not going to dinner at Dr. Lec- _Hannibal’s_ , but he’s honestly been looking forward to seeing him for the past few days and if it’s too awkward he can always just leave, right? Right. He needs to show up at the very least. It’d be rude not to.

He puts on his least terrible shirt and the emergency blazer he has shoved in the back of his closet for all the dates he doesn’t go on. He tries to comb his hair into something presentable and looks at himself in the mirror. He may look well-rested these days but his eyes still look tired. He wonders how much longer he can do this.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Will arrives at Hannibal’s house a little earlier than expected and rings the doorbell, trying to ignore his nervousness. Hannibal opens the door and smiles at Will, stepping aside to let him enter. “I’m so pleased you could come, Will. May I get you something to drink? I have a Bordeaux that should pair nicely with our meal tonight.”

“Um, sure. Thanks,” says Will, looking around at the tasteful decorations and extremely valuable items that furnish Hannibal’s home. Everything is perfect. Will feels like he’s going to break something if he so much as moves wrong, so he gingerly follows Hannibal to the kitchen, where he hands Will a glass of wine. “You have a beautiful home,” he says as he takes in the kitchen. While all of Hannibal’s home is furnished with care, Will can tell that this is his sanctuary. The kitchen is exquisite, with professional-looking appliances and a space that is laid out to be functional and used often, instead of the performatively expensive kitchens Will sees in most rich people’s houses whenever he bothers to watch television. “Can I help you with anything?” Hannibal takes a dish out of the oven and it fills the kitchen with a wonderful, rich aroma that immediately makes Will’s mouth water. “Oh my God, that smells amazing,” he blurts.

“Thank you for offering, but you are my guest. I would like some company here though, if that is all right?” Will sits on a stool and watches as Hannibal deftly chops a bunch of herbs and scoops them into a small bowl. He makes everything look effortless.

“Where are Jack and Bella?” asks Will, noticing the time. 

“Unfortunately they will not be joining us tonight, I believe there was a family emergency.” Will nods. Bella’s recent cancer diagnosis was common knowledge. He reminds himself to call tomorrow if he doesn’t see Jack at work. 

Hannibal sprinkles the herbs over the perfectly plated dishes. “Everything is ready. Please follow me to the dining room.” Will follows Hannibal to the richly-appointed dining room where Hannibal pulls out a chair for him, making Will feel weirdly embarrassed and special at the same time. Hannibal brings out two plates of a delicious-looking salad topped with goat’s cheese and chopped grapes, finished with a light vinaigrette. Will accidentally lets out an appreciative moan as he takes his first bite and looks up in embarrassment.

“Sorry. I don’t usually like salads but this is amazing.” Hannibal smiles, pleased.

The next course is a seared rack of lamb with a rosemary and garlic crust with gently blistered squash and broccolini, seasoned to perfection. Hannibal is right, the Bordeaux compliments it perfectly. Will wonders if he cooks like this every day. It seems like he does. Will tries to imagine Hannibal ordering a pizza and can’t.

“This has a really interesting flavor,” notes Will as he’s about halfway through the main course. “Do you source it from a specialty butcher? Or do you butcher it yourself?” Will asks, joking.

Hannibal takes a sip of his wine and smiles. “Something like that. I take great care with what I put in my body.”

Will splutters, choking momentarily on his squash. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” he mutters.

They finish up the meal with a lovely berry torte served with a scoop of rich ice cream that Will is certain that Hannibal made himself. Will sits back in his chair feeling blissed out. “I think that may have been the best meal that I have ever eaten. No, scratch that. It _is_ the best meal that I’ve ever eaten.”

Hannibal gives him a crooked, pleased smile. “Can I help you with the dishes? Or at least let me clear the table.”

“I would welcome help clearing the table but as I said earlier, you are my guest. You can help with the dishes next time.” Oh my God, thinks Will. There’s going to be a next time?

After they clear the table Will and Hannibal retire to a set of comfortable armchairs by a welcoming fire, each with a glass of very good scotch. “This has been a wonderful evening,” says Will honestly. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Will. However, I must admit that I am glad Jack and Bella cancelled tonight as I wished to speak with you in private.”

Will’s mouth goes dry. “Oh?”

Hannibal sets his glass on the end table and folds his hands in his lap, fixing Will with a steady look.

“I suspect, Will, that you have not been entirely honest with me.”

Will’s stomach sinks with dread.


End file.
